I Added 20 kg of Cowbells to My Skis. On Purpose.

While everyone else is trying to save grams, I decided to do the exact opposite.

Skiers spend a small fortune trying to save grams: lighter skis, lighter boots, lighter everything. Last winter, I did the opposite. I skied over 300 km carrying traditional Swiss cowbells of various weights, eventually reaching 19 kg with two bells and 20 kg with four. Yes, deliberately. And the worst part? I loved it.

It all started with my daughter. After a long day of skiing, she stopped halfway down a red run and refused to go any further. I picked her up and skied down with 20 kg of extra weight. Afterwards, a perfectly logical thought occurred to me: if I can ski with 20 kg of daughter, why not 20 kg of cowbells?

I live in Switzerland and collect traditional cowbells and Treicheln, the large hammered metal bells heard around the Alps. I love their sound, their history and the pleasure they bring. Leaving them sitting quietly at home seemed a shame, so they started skiing with me.

At first, it was just a few kilos. Then a little more. Then even more. You can probably see where this is going. In Gstaad, I skied 133 km in two days with bells. By the end, my arms were bruised in places from the weight. Probably a reasonable hint to stop, which I chose to ignore.

With 19 or 20 kg, skiing becomes rather different. The bells swing, pull at your arms and change your balance. Your legs, core and concentration all have to work harder. I’m not claiming it’s a scientifically proven training method, but when the bells come off, my skis suddenly feel wonderfully light. It’s like discovering ordinary skiing all over again.

Of course, the bells don’t go unnoticed. In March, three of us went skiing around Wengen and Kleine Scheidegg, beneath the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau. We made rather more noise than the average ski party, and the local newspaper Plattform J even wrote about our outing. People turn around when they hear DONG-DONG-DONG (expecting a cow, by some strange reason), smile and start chatting. The first question is usually “Why?” Or, of course, “Where’s the cow?”

On 6 June, I escaped summer to find snow in Zermatt. Bright sunshine, beautiful pistes, hardly anyone around: perfect conditions. With the cowbells, of course. My Garmin recorded 78.4 km/h. I’m not calling it a world record, but I’ve never seen a cow go that fast.

A lift operator told me skiing with cowbells was dangerous. I tried reassuring her that I’d already skied over 300 km with them and fallen only once. I’m not sure that argument helped. Later, a British skier told me, “You made everyone laugh today. Everyone heard you.” I loved that, because making people smile is every bit as enjoyable as the physical challenge.

The bells have also accompanied me hiking, including more than 2,000 vertical metres up to the Schilthorn. But skiing remains my favourite way to make a racket. Why do it? Because I love skiing, I love Swiss bells, and together they make both even more enjoyable.

Everyone else can keep shaving grams off their gear. Somebody has to balance the statistics.

Words and Images: Mischa (Mikhail) Gurov lives in Männedorf, Switzerland, and spends an increasingly unreasonable amount of time taking traditional Swiss bells into the mountains.